by Ling, Maria
"We'll venture a trot," Eustace said. "Yes, I know what my lord said. It's my back and not yours."
"Just make sure of that," the groom warned, but he rode off towards the stricken horse.
Eustace turned to Aline, who watched him with luminous eyes. "Tell me you didn't plan this," she said.
"Of course not," Eustace replied, nettled. "I would never endanger a horse, even if it got me -- " He broke off.
"Got you what?"
"Close to you. Come on, before someone gets suspicious." He led the way back along the track they'd followed, saw them safely hidden by the trees. Picked up a trot the moment they were out of sight, to make up time he'd need later. "Just stay with me."
They rode in silence until he judged the moment right, then slowed to a walk. "Just up on the right here, there should be a spot where -- here we are." He halted, found to his delight that she responded instantly, alert and in full control of her mount. "You'll need to jump the ditch, but it shouldn't be beyond you. Watch me." He took the jump cleanly, his horse well accustomed to stealing aside this way. They'd had many illicit excursions in cover of the woods.
Aline took the jump equally cleanly, sat sure in the saddle. He could risk this, he thought, it carried no danger at all. "Here." Eustace led the way through the trees, out into an open pasture. Common land, the peasants grazed it through the summer, gathered wood in autumn. It lay deserted now, winter bleak, covered with snow. "Good firm even ground," Eustace said, "you need not fear to gallop over it."
"Remember our challenge?" Aline asked, with a twinkle in those gorgeous eyes.
"I do," Eustace said. "But I won't hold you to it. Stay mounted and safe, is all I ask. I'll hold back for you."
"I don't need -- " she began.
"We don't have much time," Eustace interrupted. "Please. I can guess what it means to you. Just run free for a moment. You'll be clipped and cooped again soon enough."
She gave him one brilliant smile, all sunlight on snow. "You're wonderful," she said, and was off. Whizzed through the snow in a spray of sparks, fearless and beautiful and bold. His heart ached to see her, because he wanted to watch her like this always, wanted her to belong to him so he could set her free entirely, and she never would. Never could be his, because he was a poor knight in service to her guardian, and she was a lady who must marry well.
She swooped like a falcon, sped past him on the turn and drenched him in flying snow. He laughed then, urged his own horse on, caught her and held her level. They sped across the open ground, hooves pounding, neck by neck. Turned and swooped again, fetched up near the gap in the trees, beyond which the path ran quiet and sedate.
"Enough," Eustace called. "Forgive me. But we'll be missed if we don't leave now."
She came to hand, breathless and glowing, her dark hair spraying out from her temples and glinting with shards of ice. "I won't plead," she said. "I know you've done your best for me."
"Always," Eustace said. "And I always will."
He could kiss her now, lean across the gulf that separated them, touch those tempting lips. Just this once, before she slipped from his grasp again, and for good.
Her smile faded. Dark eyes widened in thought.
Eustace leaned over, as far as balance would let him, and she met him part way, touched mouth to mouth. So gentle, a caress that tingled in his lips and heart and groin, warm breath meeting his. He edged his horse a step closer, so the two beasts stood flank to flank. Reached out and caught her arm with his hand, pulled her closer still. Her gloved hand touched his shoulder, slipped up to his neck, held him in so gentle a grip. And she tasted him, delicate tongue against his own, she was like fresh water after a long and dusty ride.
He eased himself away, not willingly, but he wanted to look at her. Wanted to see the same light in her eyes that he knew must shine out of his own. It did, dark eyes bright with jubilation, he wanted to laugh aloud for sheer joy.
Though he mustn't, they'd be discovered. The idea chilled him. He'd be flogged and thrown out of the house, left penniless and masterless to make his own miserable way in life. Which he'd do, and gladly, if it served her. But she would be disgraced, hounded for a fault not her own, and that he could not bear. It was his choice to kiss her, he never should have done so, the risk was far too great.
Aline pulled him close again, and he was too weak to resist. Craved that mouth too much, craved more of her too, every part of her body. Bare skin under those clothes, he could imagine stripping them from her, slowly -- actually no, not slowly at all.
This time it was she who pulled away. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You could get into so much trouble, I know."
"I'll chance it. You're in greater danger."
"I don't care," Aline said. "I won't marry anyone they set me to, I swear it. I only want you."
He glowed at that, light shone throughout his body. And he wanted her, desired her with a strength that tore at him. They could do it here, he thought, right here on the snowy ground, with his cloak for cover.
Except that they couldn't. Because he was a sworn man, and she a lady, and his duty was clear if icy cold.
"Let's get you back," he said. "And then I must alert my lord to the the plight of his guest."
"And after that?" Aline whispered.
He didn't know. "I'll think of something. Just hold them off as best you can. Don't take any vows at all, not even if they press you." Though he didn't like to think how much force that might involve. If they whipped her until she gave in --
"Of course I won't," Aline said scornfully. "I said I won't marry anyone else, and I mean it."
"Hold on to that thought," Eustace said. "We could be in for some rough riding, both of us."
###
"Damn fool," the earl said. "Took the horse out there, and at a gallop? I wish he'd died and made an end of it. How's the beast?"
"Lame," Eustace said, "but moving about last I saw. Don't think we need to send the knacker out to club it to death. God be praised."
"Amen," the earl replied. "Well, order what you need and have men go out with a proper stretcher for him. I suppose we'll have to keep him whole if we can. But he's not marrying any ward of mine."
Eustace suppressed a cheer.
"Treating a good horse like that," the earl muttered. "Any horse, for that matter. No, she'll go to his father, who at least has a measure of sense. Doesn't make much difference to the money, might get a better payment from the baron, though I did think she might prefer a younger man. But not one like that, I promised her father I'd choose a decent man for her if it ever came to it. Go on, drag him back and put him somewhere I can't see him. If you tread on a broken bone of his by accident, don't worry about a whipping."
"I'll take every possible care," Eustace said ambiguously, and hurried away.
One rival down, he thought with a measure of satisfaction. But another and more dangerous one still to go.
He got the injured man safely back to the castle and into the steward's own bed, saw the horse well tended and soothed and apparently little the worse, though it limped fiercely on the off foreleg. That would mend in time, but whether the beast could still be ridden was another question entirely. And what would happen then wasn't even worth a guess. The baron and his son were not the men to keep beasts that couldn't work for them, and no one would pay good money for a crippled horse.
Cruel, he thought, for an animal to be disposed of with such contempt, all for the haughty whim of a baron's son. And he thought of Aline, left to other whims of men such as that. It was not to be borne.
He wouldn't bear it, and neither would she. He'd find a way.
He lounged by the stairs as the hall bustled for supper, heard men pulling tables into place and setting out benches. Hidden in the shadows, he could pass for any man on guard, there was usually one posted hereabouts. And she'd come this way, Aline would, any moment now. He would see her as she passed, catch a fleeting glimpse of her so close that he might reach out and touch. Which he
wouldn't, of course, it would be unseemly, and besides she'd be attended.
But she wasn't. She came down the stairs quite alone, almost passed him before she became aware. Stopped with a gasp, and he yielded to the urge that ran along his arms, pulled her into the shadows and held her close.
"I have to see you," he whispered, mouth brushing the soft skin of her neck. She stood so near him he could smell the scent of her, sweet and heady as spiced wine. "Alone."
She found his mouth with hers, kissed him with a quiet urgency that made him burn with longing. Whispered: "Where do you sleep? I'll come to you."
"You'll do no such thing." Rambling through the castle at night, tripping over men at every step. If the guards even let her out of her room, which he doubted. No. "Start taking walks. In the morning, before breakfast. While it's still dark. I'll catch you between the inner gate and the west tower, there's a nook behind the workshop there." They could find a moment or two, unguarded and unwatched.
"I'll come," Aline whispered. Steps thudded on the stairs, he recognised the earl's tread. Released her, hastily if reluctantly, and stayed back as she padded back into the torchlight and smiled up at her guardian. "I would not precede you, sir," she said. The earl laughed and took her by the arm, and led her away without noticing Eustace.
She was punctual to her time, and so was he, by dint of rising in the blackness of night and readying himself by feel. "Earl wants to know how the horse is faring," he told the men on guard at the main door, and they let him out. He went to the stables as the first lamps lit, heard the murmur of grooms from within. Checked the lame horse, because that might clear him with the earl should he be questioned, and tucked himself out of sight behind the workshop until he heard light hesitant steps. Then he emerged, pulled her in with him, revelled in the sensation of holding her in his arms. She was well wrapped against the cold, hooded cloak and dainty boots, he worried for a moment that her tracks would betray her when daylight came. But on further thought, he dismissed the notion. With so many feet tramping about, it would be impossible to trace her path.
"What can we do?" Aline whispered -- not in despair, but a genuine question. "I am to be married well. Do you have wealth or connections to bargain with, or friends who might help? I know you said we were kin."
"Distant," Eustace said. "I'm sorry. You've drawn a poor lot." Fear gripped him, icy cold. He wasn't worth her while, not when she could do so much better. "If you want a wealthy man -- "
"No." She stopped him with a kiss. Stroked his cheek with the fingertips of one gloved hand, smooth leather light on his skin. "I want you," she whispered. "Just you. And freedom. To be myself, to do what I like and never have to worry about propriety. Wealth I have, and when I marry, my husband may command it as he pleases. That means you."
He didn't want such responsibility. Didn't want to take it from her, either. "I would only ever do your bidding. It may be mine to hold in trust, it will not be mine to squander."
She leaned her head against his shoulder, he tucked her hood up to protect her from the cold iron of his mailcoat. Held her in his arms and rocked her, while he worried what to do.
"We could escape," he said. "Take vows somewhere, and present the earl with a done deed." But he knew, even as he said it, that it would not stand.
"You could not betray him so," Aline said. "You are sworn to his service. I would not ask you, for my sake, to act so badly towards a man who has raised you, and whom you respect."
"It's not that," Eustace said. "For you, I'd do it in an instant. But who's to witness for us? Who's to stand against the combined might of my lord and the baron his friend? If it's our word only, they'll disregard it, and anyone who stands with us must be brought down too. Besides, I want to do this openly. Honourably."
"So do I." She nestled against his shoulder. "But how?"
"I don't know," Eustace admitted. "Just hold them off for as long as you can. Give me some time to think. And now you'd best leave. They'll be looking for you."
"I said I was walking as far as the bailey gate. They won't expect me back yet." But she sounded uncertain.
He released her, though it cost him to do so. "I'll walk part way back with you. It's dark still, no one will notice." But still they lingered, breath on breath, a little island of warmth in the midst of winter. Until her name rang out from the courtyard, and she startled and turned away.
He let her go, it was better that they should not be seen together, especially now that men searched for her. For himself he hung back, listened as she replied with easy-going patience to their insistent questions as to where she had been, traced her steps by every light bootfall across the snowy ground and in through the door, and once again out of his reach.
Then he sneaked from his hiding-place, circled back to the stables and strode from there across the courtyard, in full sight. Arrived in the great hall to see the family take their seats, stamped snow from his boots and hurried across to his own place just in time for the prayer.
***
CHAPTER 6
"It would have pleased your father." Matilda combed Aline's hair by section, let it cascade across the back of the linen shift. "He always wanted you to marry well. Your mother, too, think how happy she would have been to see you take those vows. It was the day she looked forward to from when you were born. She told me so, when she first held you in her arms. Said she wished nothing better for you than to be married as well and happily as she was."
Aline winced. She wished Matilda would not speak so. "I don't want to marry the baron."
"I think he'll offer for you, dear. He certainly is most attentive at meals."
"I know." Aline didn't care for that reminder either. "But I don't like him. Not well enough to..." No, she didn't even want to think about joining with him in a bed. It was a dreadful thought, utterly disgusting.
She wouldn't have conceded, even without Eustace. Not the baron. Some other man, perhaps, she admitted to herself that some of them were pleasant enough to consider. For her parents' sake, to respect their wishes and honour their memory, she might have submitted to marry some man she didn't over much care for.
But now, with Eustace's kisses imprinted on her lips, with his embrace a constant joyful memory, she could not think of any other man. It was impossible. She would marry no man but him.
If it could be managed. Somehow, surely, they must be able to come up with a way.
"I think you'll have to get used to the idea." Matilda tucked her up in bed, blew out the candle, settled beside her under the blanket. "They looked as if the matter was all but settled, the pair of them."
"It can't be," Aline insisted. "The church says there is no marriage without consent, and that I absolutely withhold."
"You say that now, dear, but -- "
"No."
Matilda paused. "Very well," she said. "You know your own mind, I'm sure."
Aline stared into the darkness and listened while Matilda's breathing deepened and slowed. Her thoughts were full -- of the earl and the baron, at first, but that only made her angry. She turned instead to Eustace, smiled as she recalled his every word and touch, let her mind roam where flesh could not. Him she would join with, gladly and gratefully, he would be everything she desired. She was sure of it.
She still didn't know where he slept. In a corner by the stairs, he'd told her, and refused to elaborate. She understood his reticence well enough, he didn't want her wandering about the castle and getting into trouble. Some of the men might not be so well-disciplined as he assured her. Even without that fear, the earl would not take kindly to her grasping at freedom. It was not the sort of thing a well brought-up girl could do.
But she'd always had a taste for running wild.
Aline slipped out of bed, quietly so as not to wake Matilda. Pulled on her dress, threw a kerchief over her hair. Eased the door open.
A mailclad arm shot out in front of her. "Not until morning."
"I can't sleep," Aline complained. "And I need the
privy."
"Use the pot, that's what it's for. Go on, get back to where you're supposed to be before someone takes a liking." He shoved her back into the room, face shadowed, with his back to the solitary tallow lamp that smoked on the wall by the stairs. Yanked her hand away and shut the door in her face.
Aline cursed under her breath. Took a turn about the room, bumped into the bedpost and drew a startled mumble from Matilda. Glared at the thin slots that opened in the stone walls, tried to remember how long a drop waited beyond them. Settled at last at the foot of the bed, defeated and furious.
This would not be her life. She vowed that to herself, intensely. She utterly refused to live out her days and nights like this, held captive at the whim of men, because they sought to profit from her bedding.
All the same, angry as she was, she didn't see what else she could do.
###
Eustace stared into the darkness.
She would be asleep by now, long since, the hours were well into the first watch of the night. But he wasn't close to dozing, hadn't slept at all. Couldn't, while he traced her every word and touch over and over again, relived her kisses, went on to imagine all he never dared to think of in daylight.
She'd be asleep. As he should be. And the last thing he ought to do was rise from his corner pallet, throw his cloak around his shoulders, stalk up the barely-lit stairs.
The trouble with night watch, as he well knew from past experience, was that it was long and dull and thankless. Small blame to men who fell asleep, even close by the earl's own door. Of course, they'd all learned to wake at clink of armour or creak of door, at shuffle of boots or of slippered feet. But he'd learned to move quietly, in the days he'd spent as a squire creeping around the earl's wrath. He had good reason to draw on that skill now, as armed and armoured men seldom did.
The guards were out cold. Both of them, one on each side of her door.
Eustace stood irresolute. Part of him wanted to remain, to keep vigil close by her side, with a stone wall between them to protect her virtue and reputation. Another, less knightly impulse was to knock quietly, try to wake her without startling her woman or her guards. Find a moment to touch her, seek reassurance that she still loved him, that she hadn't yet been swayed towards another man's arms.